


endearing yourself against my will

by ayushi_writes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (baby) (beloved), Flirting, Fluff, M/M, flirting on competitive mode, smooching the homies good morning, they call each other the WORST b words, theyre so dumb and they like each other so much.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayushi_writes/pseuds/ayushi_writes
Summary: Kiyoomi's got to win this. Atsumu’s scored too many easy points off of him.“Maybe…” he dips his head to the side, as if considering, as if such a word floats so easily off his tongue. “Beloved…?”Atsumu’s eyes widen, comically so. His mouth wobbles, and—“Oh, my god.” Andthisis what it finally takes for Atsumu to free him from the counter, turning around and burying his face in his hands as he paces up and down the kitchen.~or, the excruciating ordeal of fondness, and how to weaponize it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 30
Kudos: 407





	endearing yourself against my will

**Author's Note:**

> crawls out of hole in greeting...... hi.....
> 
> sorry for not posting in ages!! zoom university is truly eating my entire brain and im doing my bestest to make more time to write!! ive got a couple more wips/giftfics that are close to completion so hopefully u guys will be seeing more of me on the ole archive :}}
> 
> i finally stitched this together after posting snippets of it because i needed a solid zine application sample so regardless of the outcome at least i can inflict some TENDERNESS onto u all B)
> 
> enjoy!!

There’s no space in the room for sound, the way it’s filled to bursting with morning sunlight pouring in through the windows. Even the quiet taps of the cupboards opening and closing make themselves scarce in the face of a small apartment that’s well at capacity.

Unfortunately, Kiyoomi is well-acquainted with someone who’s in the business of forcing space to be made for himself.

"Hey. Heyyyy."

"What do you want." Kiyoomi doesn't bother inflecting his response as a question. He already knows.

"Omi-omi, y'know I only ever want one thing." Atsumu leans in, breath puffing onto his ear. And, of course, the inexorable wrap of his arms around Kiyoomi's waist from behind. "Can ya guess~?"

Kiyoomi closes the cabinet he was rooting around in, consigning his quest for chamomile tea as a lost cause. 

"My ire."

"Wow, yer a real romantic, aren'tcha," Atsumu huffs, hooking his chin over Kiyoomi's shoulder petulantly. "Yer partway there."

"My tea, that you stole."

"I did _not!_ I have my own tea, thanks."

"Me to make you breakfast, which is a resounding no."

"Yer terrible at this game." Atsumu's arms loosen to spin Kiyoomi around and trap him against the kitchen counter. "I want _youu_ , baby."

And here he goes again. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. Atsumu simply _needs_ attention from and—seemingly more pressingly—to devote attention to Kiyoomi at near every given opportunity. Constantly assaulting him with pet names, making kissy noises at him like he’s a _cat_ or something, finding any excuse to lean into or onto him. 

And Kiyoomi… loathes it. Really. He’s not a hypocrite for indulging in those morning (strictly _after_ tooth-brushing) kisses or pouting broodily when Atsumu doesn’t let him nuzzle into his chest because he’s got trivial tasks like “making meals” or “doing taxes.” Certainly not for his snarkiness, but complete lack of solid protest, in the face of stupid affectionate skirmishes like these. 

He leans back against the counter leisurely and sets his mouth in a firm line against the verbal barrage, fully intending not to budge. 

As if pressing his lips together will tamp down the flush that traitorously rises at Atsumu's relentless, ridiculous commentary.

"Hey, I like ya lots."

"Mmh."

"I like yer stupid pretty face."

"Mm-hmm."

His voice is quieter. "Yer the prettiest human on Earth, ever."

"Ngh," Kiyoomi manages, eloquently.

Atsumu loves getting a rise out of people. He wants people to laugh at his jokes, scoff at his exaggerated complaints, get riled at his intentional stupidity.

The worst thing about dating him is this: the reaction doesn't mean anything to Atsumu. That is a lie, it does a little. But the self-satisfaction he derives is from the ease of saying things that are true to him.

"What, ya wanna debate me on that? It's truueee~~~"

"You have. An infinitesimal sample size for that conclusion."

"No, I checked. Didn' have ta check much after I laid eyes on ya…" His palm comes up to cup Kiyoomi's jaw, smooth a thumb across the corner of his lips. "So, ya are."

Flicking his eyes away feels like losing, but Kiyoomi truly can’t hold eye contact after Atsumu pulls this kind of bullshit. It’s dumb. He’s so, so dumb.

Kiyoomi’s not sure which one of them he’s ascribing that to. 

Atsumu takes it as the win that it unfortunately is, and he can _hear_ the grin in his voice.

"Lemme see that smile?"

"I don't smile. I've never smiled in my life." This would be far more convincing if Kiyoomi's lips weren't twitching upwards as he said it. Atsumu sees this, capitalizes on the opportunity to duck in and press little smacky kisses at the sides of his mouth. 

"C'monn, baby." Entirely against his will, Kiyoomi melts a little, and Atsumu presses his advantage.

"Omi-omiii. Hey, baby, c'mon, just a liiittle frown-upside-down? Baa—"

"Shut up." Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu and his onslaught away with three fingers, but that backfires as Atsumu starts dropping exaggerated little smooches on them too.

And he can't help the grin that grows at his stupid boyfriend's antics, no matter how much he tries to bite it back. He's so horribly, terribly helpless to this, to the incredibly stupid way Atsumu makes him feel.

Atsumu's eyes shine, crinkling up at the corners as he murmurs, "There it is."

His genuine triumph is infuriating—acting like Kiyoomi’s smile is some hard-won prize. _Maybe_ it is, but god, at what cost? 

It’s not fair that Atsumu’s had the one-up on him for this entire verbal spar. About time that Kiyoomi leveled the playing field.

He’s not quite so gentle as Atsumu’s been when his own fingers inch up his chest and to his chin, pulling him in and getting a pleasantly startled noise for his trouble.

Kiyoomi likes when he kisses Atsumu stupid, pulling away and seeing him blink his eyes open with that dazedly happy look on his face. He gets this… dopey grin, and Kiyoomi can't stand the way it delights him, makes him feel on top of the world, actually, he hates it. He wants his feet on the ground, thanks.

"Omi-kun… do ya like me or something~~?"

He exhales deeply, the spell broken. 

"You are... _unbelievable_. You—"

"Hey." Lower, quieter. "Do it again, please?"

The wide, happy corners of his mouth have pinched in a little, like he's expecting Kiyoomi to say no. Like Kiyoomi has a say in this, when Atsumu looks like _that._

Like Miya Atsumu says _please_ for things he doesn't want desperately, deeply, achingly.

"Idiot," he mutters. "Why'd you bother asking?"

And he pushes Atsumu back against the counter, hearing the clatter of Atsumu's hand catching himself and nearly knocking over a bowl, and he doesn't _care_. Because he has a lot of words to describe Atsumu, but _lovely_ is so hard to form in his mouth and spit out properly, and Kiyoomi's hands come up to cup his face with the reverence that he can't quite say. 

The worst thing is pulling back and _seeing_ Atsumu’s content grin, so wide it pushes his eyes up into those happy, smiley slits. He ducks his head down, as if to hide it, as if _he_ gets to hide his reactions while Kiyoomi’s being subjected to the most unfortunate baring of his own emotions since attending the All-Japan Youth Camp in high school.

“How can I…?” he murmurs, wondering for a succinct way to secure victory. 

“How can ya’ what?” Atsumu pipes up.

He casts his mind about for a less mortifying alternative to “put my maelstrom of _ooey-gooey_ feelings for you, of all people, into words.”

“How am I going to introduce you to people? I was thinking something like ‘the court jester.’”

Atsumu pouts. “Now, that’s just mean. Why not the man of your dreams?”

“I’m not in the habit of lying to people.”

“Your sexy, doting boyfriend?”

“Too crass.”

Kiyoomi's got to win this. Atsumu’s scored too many easy points off of him. 

“Maybe…” he dips his head to the side, as if considering, as if such a word floats so easily off his tongue. “Beloved…?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen, comically so. His mouth wobbles, and— 

“Oh, my god.” And _this_ is what it finally takes for Atsumu to free him from the counter, turning around and burying his face in his hands as he paces up and down the kitchen.

“Wow,” Kiyoomi observes from the table, pulling out a chair and sitting in it backwards. “You really are one of those ‘dish it out but can’t take it’ people, huh?”

Atsumu regains some of his composure, cheeks still flaming, and points accusingly at him. “I give ya nothin’ but love, kindness, my heart an’ devotion, and you have the _audacity,_ the complete—goddamn—” He sputters, turning away and covering his face with his hands again.

“You shouldn’t touch your face,” Kiyoomi comments amusedly. “It’s not good for—”

“I got myself those stupid _microfiber_ cloths for ya! And this is how ya repay—I’m callin’ it off, I swear, I gotta find our landlord’s number.”

“No you aren’t.” Kiyoomi quite likes this, turning the tables. “You’re my _beloved._ ”

He still can’t quite let the word out without flustering a little—a lot—but it’s well worth the mix of rage, fondness, and constipation that works its way across Atsumu’s face, his expression settling somewhere between smitten and murderous. 

_“You…_ you…” He strides over to Kiyoomi’s chair—ugh, poor choice, now Atsumu can look _down_ on him for a change.

And meeting Kiyoomi’s eyes, registering the genuine smile—albeit, at his expense—seems to flip a switch in Atsumu. He sighs. 

“...Yer beloved, huh?” he says, the edges a little softer. “That’s not so bad, I guess.”

Amusement has faded into those ooey-gooey feelings again. Kiyoomi doesn’t mind, tilting his head up to better meet Atsumu’s warm eyes, still not fully able to bite back the corners of his smug grin.

Lovely. Defined as loveable. Defined as able to be loved, easily. Able to be loved. 

And _beloved,_ the shirt twisted in Kiyoomi’s fingers rustles, the little noises against his lips mutter, his heart beating in his ears sings, fits quite well into what little space remains between them.

**Author's Note:**

> *gestures vaguely towards my own pile of ooey-gooey emotions* yea....
> 
> check me out on [tumblr](https://ayushipop.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/ayushipop) for fic updates (unlikely) and talking abt anime and twice (very likely)!!
> 
> feel free to drop a kudos or comment!! feedback means everything to me!!


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